


More than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls

by Sarahtoo



Series: Romantic Overtures [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:31:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4562967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack meets Phryne on the dock, both of them anticipating the sexytimes ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote from John Donne, and it seemed like something Jack would read. Plus it fit my semi-epistolary format. (Sheesh, doesn’t that make me sound like the English major I was? I swear, I had to look that word up. I didn’t, on the other hand, have to look up “sexytimes.”)
> 
> I think this is the end of this particular series—unless I come up with some additional ideas on it, that is! This is pretty explicit—hence the E rating—so if it’s not your deal, I can understand. It took me a little longer than I anticipated to get to the held-back letters, but I promise, it’s in there! Thanks to everyone who’s stuck with me through this—I truly appreciate all of your comments and support!

Jack stood on the Melbourne dock, watching out to sea for the _Majestic_. It was barely lunchtime, and the ship unlikely to arrive until high tide—about half six this evening—but he hadn’t been able to stay away. He’d worried that it might come in early, and if no one was on the dock to greet her, Phryne would be devastated. He couldn’t bear that. He’d brought a book of John Donne’s poetry with which to pass the time, but he’d been having trouble concentrating on it. He had finally given up when he came to Donne’s letter to his friend Sir Henry Wotton, which began:

_Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls,  
For thus, friends absent speak._

Which made him think immediately of Phryne, and the wonderful letters she’d sent while she was away. Granted, his desire to “mingle souls” with Phryne was likely more than the intellectual mingling that Donne had had in mind when he put pen to paper, but the sentiment was what mattered.

Jack reached into the inside pocket of his overcoat, where he kept the erotic letter Phryne had written the night she left Melbourne. The paper was soft from much handling, but the letters were as crisply black as they had been the day Jack received it. He opened it again, reading it for the umpteenth time since it had first arrived.

> Your kisses, Jack! I think that I would like to cuddle with you and just kiss you for hours. I want to sip at the dip above your top lip and torment you enough that you whisper my name in your deep, delectable voice. 

Jack smiled. As it always had, the words both raised his desire and eased his heart—Phryne wanted him! He hoped that soon, he’d be able to give (read?) her some of his own erotic letters. He thought of the box of letters he had kept back, at least one per day since the beginning of September. Some of them were explicit, but others shaped the words of his love for Phryne in a way that he had been unable as yet to voice. Perhaps if he treated them as if they were written by the poets he loved, he’d be able to say them out loud without embarrassing himself? He supposed he’d find out soon enough. He was determined that he would pursue Phryne and hope that his feelings would be returned.

“Jack!”

He looked up, surprised to see Jane waving madly as she, Dot, and Mac piled out of Bert and Cec’s cab. He tucked the letter away again, turning to them.

“What are you doing here?” He said, a smile quirking at the side of his mouth. “Her ship isn’t due for hours yet!”

“I might ask the same of you,” Jane said, grinning cheekily. “At least we brought provisions to get us through the wait!” She gestured to Dot, who was supervising the lifting of two enormous wicker baskets out of the cab.

Mac smiled. “We wanted to be sure we were here when the ship arrived. It wouldn’t do for Phryne to think we’d forgotten her.” Jack nodded. He should have realized that Phryne’s nearest and dearest would have had the same thought he did.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. John Donne wasn’t holding my attention,” he held up the book of poetry, “and I’m certain you all will be more entertaining.”

“We’ll do our best, inspector,” Jane answered, sounding remarkably like Phryne. Jack tilted his head and gave her a smirk, just as he would have done to her guardian.

Dot smiled as she directed the placement of picnic baskets and blanket in a corner that would be protected from the wind off the water and yet had an excellent view. It was good that Mr Butler had foreseen the possibility that Jack would be just as eager to see Miss Phryne; there was plenty of food to satisfy even his appetite.

The next few hours passed congenially; Jack had spent many evenings over the past two months at Miss Fisher’s house, among her family, as had Mac. It seemed that all of Phryne’s family had gathered together to await the return of the sun they all orbited, and now they were easy in each other’s company.

Over time, the level of activity on the dock rose as people arrived to meet the passengers of the _Majestic_. Even so, Jack was the first to see the ship steaming in from the horizon. He couldn’t stop the shout that left his lips when he saw its outline against the sky. He stood, wishing that he had binoculars, and willing it to speed up. Jane was up, shading her eyes to see, as well, and Dot and Mac immediately began to pack up their picnic things. Once they’d gotten it all packed away, Bert and Cec carried it off to the cab and the other four headed down to be closer to where the ship would dock.

Even before the ship slid into its berth, Jack’s eyes were caught by the waving arms and bright red hat and coat of the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher. She must’ve chosen that outfit because its contrast against the white of the ship would be extreme, Jack thought. He raised his arm to wave in return, aware of the wide grin he couldn’t control. Jane was yelling and waving, Mac had raised an arm as well, and Dot was beaming.

It seemed like forever for the minutes to pass between that first sight of Phryne and when she could actually come down the gangplank, but eventually she made her way to them. Jane threw herself into Phryne’s arms almost before her foot touched the dock, chattering away about how she’d been missed. With Jane wrapped in her arms, Phryne looked up.

“Mac, it’s so good to see you! And Dot—I see that marriage agrees with you! You have roses in your cheeks! Where is Hugh?” The comment caused Dot to blush, but smile even more.

“He’s working today, Miss,” Dot said with a smile.

“Well, I suppose that’s a good enough reason, at least for him.” Phryne said with a smile. She let go of Jane, then straightened up to meet Jack’s eyes.

“Hello, Jack,” she said, rather softly. Her eyes were saying so much more—I’ve missed you, I want you, I can’t wait until you kiss me—and Jack found it hard to hold himself back. He stood, hat in hand, and smiled his sideways smile. Phryne’s lips curved even more. How she’d missed him!

“Miss Fisher,” he said. “Welcome home.” Phryne gave a little shiver at hearing his deep voice again after so long. She smiled. Jack supposed that his eyes were probably sending much the same messages that hers were. His gaze flicked to her lips, and she licked them. He swallowed, his mouth opening slightly.

“Well!” Mac clapped her hands, trying to break the tension between the two. Honestly, she thought, those two just needed to shag and get it over with! “Let’s find your luggage, shall we? Although I’m not sure we’ll have room in the cab for it.”

Jack blinked, breaking the spell Phryne’s eyes had caused. “Ah, yes. I have my car, if more room is needed?” He settled his hat on his head and looked about, trying to determine where the luggage was being offloaded.

“Perfect!” Phryne chirped. “I don’t have too much, but if there are already five of you in the cab, perhaps Jack would be kind enough to drive me and my things to the house?” She smiled at Jack, thinking, ah yes—perfect, indeed!

“Oh, I’ll ride with—” Jane began, but Mac pinched the back of her arm, causing her to cut off. “Ow!” A widened-eye look from the good doctor seemed to change her mind, and Jane rolled her lips together to stop herself talking.

“Excellent!” Phryne said, clasping her hands together. “It’s all settled, then!” She cast a glance down the dock. “And there are my things now!” She set off, directing them to a single trunk, hat box, and makeup case that were now sitting on the dock.

“Traveling considerably lighter this time, eh?” Mac laughed.

“Well, except for the plane,” Phryne said, laughing. “It’s in the ship’s hold. I’ve arranged for the shipping line to deliver it to the airfield, though, so we don’t need to make _that_ much room.” She hailed a porter and, in no time at all, had her luggage transported up the dock to Jack’s car. When it was loaded, she’d greeted Bert and Cec, then waved them, along with Dot, Mac, and Jane, off in the cab. Then she turned to Jack.

“Well, Jack Robinson,” she said, sending him a sultry look. “Now I can greet you properly!”

He smiled and, without speaking, reached for her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. He smiled into her eyes until his lips met hers, and then neither of them spoke for quite some time.

 

**************

 

By the time Phryne and Jack arrived at her house, both of them a little mussed, the welcome party was in full swing, and it was another several hours before all of the guests had made their way home or to bed. Jack had surprised Phryne by staying for the party, though he did stay on the sidelines, as was his habit in a crowd. But now, it was just the two of them left in the parlour, sitting close on the sofa and talking in quiet voices.

“I missed you, Jack,” Phryne said, leaning into his side, her legs tucked up beside her and her shoes lying abandoned on the carpet. She tucked her head into his chest, unaccountably shy as she uttered those words. She’d imagined their reunion so many times, but this wasn’t the explosive passion she’d anticipated. This was… tender, in a way that she wasn’t quite sure how to handle.

Jack’s arm was around her shoulders, rubbing softly up and down her arm as he held her close. She felt him bury his face in her hair and softly kiss her there.

“I missed you, too, Phryne. Rather desperately, in fact,” he said in his low rumble. “I made rather a nuisance of myself here while you were away. It made me feel closer to you, to be in your house, so I came several times a week—invited or not—to avail myself of your family’s company.”

Phryne raised her head at that. “Really?” she asked, with a small smile. “And did you sneak into my boudoir, Jack?”

Jack met her eyes, smiling slightly. “I might have done,” he admitted, “but even after almost two months, it smells of your perfume, and it almost made me miss you more.” He dipped his head and his lips brushed hers lightly, then clung. “Your bed is rather more comfortable than mine, I’ll admit,” he said against her lips. “Mr Butler was kind enough to let me stay here one night when we’d imbibed a bit too much.” Phryne’s smile grew—she had tucked him into her bed that one time when he’d been drunk, but she would never have imagined that he would have chosen her room to sleep in a second time. At least, not without her there to prod him into it.

“Well, that seems like a comparison that I might have to make for myself, Jack,” she purred, and she reached up to push her fingers into his hair and tug his lips back to hers for a more involved kiss. He capitulated immediately, pressing his tongue past her lips. His mouth tasted like the liquor he’d drunk and his own indefinable spicy flavour. Phryne let herself fall into the kiss, stroking his cheek with her fingers and curling her second hand, which held her whiskey tumbler, against his chest. She met the thrusts of his tongue with forays of her own, licking the inside of his mouth in the way she’d been fantasizing about for so long. She pulled back a bit just to trace his lips with her tongue, sipping at the dip in his upper lip the way she’d once written to him she wanted to. “Mmm, your mouth, Jack,” she whispered, leaning in to claim it again.

Jack’s hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers spearing into her hair to hold her still as his mouth ravished hers. When he pulled away, some time later, they both were breathing heavily. Their eyes met, both sets at half-mast and burning with desire. Almost in unison, they each lifted their whiskey tumblers to their lips and drank. Phryne sat up, caught Jack’s glass in her free hand, and placed it and her own on the small table with a clink. When she turned back to Jack, it was to find that he’d stood up and was looking down at her. His hair was disheveled from her fingers, and he’d loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt. His adam’s apple worked as he gazed at her.

He’s going to leave, she thought, dismayed. He’s not ready to take the next step, and he’s going to leave me to ease my own desires, alone. Her eyes raked up his body—he was definitely not unmoved by their time spent kissing—until she met his gaze. He looked at her, searching her eyes for something. Then he tilted his head and the corners of his lips, which were slightly smudged with her red lipstick, kicked up. He held out his hand to her.

“We should probably start that comparison, then, don’t you think, Miss Fisher?” His smile widened.

Her return smile was full of relief and not a little wicked. “Absolutely, inspector,” she said. “We need to examine all of the evidence.” She laid her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet, flush against his body. She lifted on her toes to kiss him again, rubbing her chest against his. He returned her kiss, then broke it off to sweep her into his arms.

“Allow me, Miss Fisher,” he said, his already deep voice a low growl. It raised gooseflesh along her arms as she looped them around his neck to steady herself as he headed up the stairs, and she tucked her head into his neck to breathe him in.

When they reached her bedroom, Jack hesitated for a moment before stepping over the threshold. Phryne raised her head.

“What is it?” she asked. Was he having second thoughts?

He shook his head, shutting the door with his foot before he carried her the extra steps to lay her on the bed. “It’s just… I’ve imagined this, and I wanted to savour the moment.”

Her smile was wide as he lowered himself to sit beside her on the bed, one arm on either side of her and his face above hers. His smile was subtler, but still there, and his eyes searched her face, as if he was committing her to memory.

Phryne’s hands reached up to touch his face, tracing his eyebrows, cheekbones, and jaw line before moving to his mouth. When her fingers traced his lips, she saw Jack’s nostrils flare with an indrawn breath; her touch on the small moles on the side of his mouth made his eyes flutter shut.

“Jack,” she whispered, overcome by the beauty of this man, her man.

He kissed her again, soft kisses on her mouth, her chin, her eyes. Propping himself on his elbows over her, he cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her deeply. When she began to whimper, he broke the kiss off and sat up, pulling her with him so that he could undo the buttons that ran down the back of her dress. She ran her hands over his shoulders to dislodge his jacket, letting it fall to the floor at the side of the bed before attacking the buttons on his waistcoat. By the time she’d pushed the waistcoat off and flung his tie away, he had opened enough of her buttons to slip the top of her dress down over her shoulders, baring them to his gaze.

Jack dipped his head to Phryne’s neck, tracing the tendon there with his mouth and laying kisses down the ivory slope of her shoulder. His hands swept over her shoulders, arms, and back, and he stroked the silk of her camisole, warm against her skin. Her breath sobbed at the touch of his lips on her skin, and she slid her arms from the sleeves of her dress, allowing it to pool at her waist. When her hands were free, she put them to his shirt again, pushing his braces from his shoulders and pulling the shirttails from his waistband before coming back to open the buttons. Contentedly leaving her to that, he pulled the camisole up and over her head; her bandeau cupped her small breasts faithfully and couldn’t hide the hardness of her nipples. Jack’s hand lifted to cup her breast, and he dipped his head to put his mouth on her through the satin. His left hand rose to pinch the nipple of her other breast through the cloth, and he heard Phryne’s breath catch. So he used his teeth to lightly nip at the nipple in his mouth.

Phryne abandoned his shirt to run her hand up the back of his head, softly bristled with shorter hair. She held his head to her breast, breathing out his name. He slipped his hands under the back of her bandeau to open the hook-and-eye closures, and she managed to open her hand and allow him to slip the item away from her skin. When his lips latched around her bare nipple, drawing most of her breast into his mouth, though, she arched her back helplessly and gripped his head to keep him in place.

Jack continued his caresses, switching to her other breast and replacing his mouth with his fingers. She was so responsive! He was still determined to make her climax with just his mouth on her breasts, so he nibbled and licked, pinched and stroked, glorying in the mingled scent of perfume and sweat and in the sound of her breath sawing in her lungs. When her fingers in his hair spasmed, pulling almost painfully, and her back stiffened against his steadying hand, he knew that he’d succeeded.

Sitting up, his mouth reddened, Jack watched Phryne lying, spent, against the pillows of her bed and smiled. He’d done that. He’d never been prouder of anything in his life.

He stripped off his shirt and undershirt, toeing off his shoes as he watched her wallow in her release. When he was in nothing but his trousers, braces hanging limp at his hips, he returned to Phryne, sliding his hands under the top edge of her dress at her waist. He loosened the last few buttons and tugged the dress down and over her hips, dropping it off the side of the bed as he gazed at her, clad only in her knickers. She must have removed her stockings earlier, for she wore none now, and her slim white legs were beginning to shift restlessly against the coverlet. Jack tucked his fingers in the waistband of her knickers and slid them down her legs as well, breathing in the scent of her arousal as he did so.

He knelt on the floor beside the bed and slipped one hand under her thigh, draping it over his shoulder. He was a little nervous about this. He’d imagined it, used it in his own fantasies many times, but he’d never done it in reality. He hoped his technique would be up to snuff. He stroked Phryne’s calves and thighs, dropping kisses up the inner line of her leg until he reached her center and breathed warmly over her most intimate place.

“Jack!” Phryne seemed to only then realize where he was, and she pushed herself up on her elbows, breasts bouncing slightly. She reached to stroke his head where it lay between her open thighs, but when she felt his tongue pressing between the folds of her sex, her eyes rolled up and she let her head fall back. “Jaaaa-aack!” she groaned, reveling in the feel of the warm suction of his mouth. Jack, who found that this act was just as pleasurable in reality as he’d imagined it would be, took his time learning what made her gasp or arch or keen; he mapped the topography of her most intimate flesh with his tongue and fingertips, glorying in the scent and taste of her. Eventually, when he could tell that she was nearing the edge, he stiffened his tongue and used it to bat her clitoris while pressing first one, then two fingers into her channel. She bucked, going over for a second time, a breathy whine accompanying her climax. Jack reveled in the gush of additional moisture that flooded over his hand and the feel of her spasming muscles around him.

He licked his fingers clean as he stood up again, shedding his trousers and underthings. He stretched out beside Phryne then, stroking her to help bring her back to calm.

“Phryne,” he murmured, “Phryne, do you have your internal device? Or I have some french letters in my wallet if you’d rather we use those? I find that I am rather desperate to get inside of you.”

Phryne flung her arm out, hooking her finger in the handle of the drawer of her bedside table. She fumbled in the drawer a moment before emerging with the shiny black case that contained her diaphragm. While Jack lay beside her, stroking her, she managed with shaky fingers to contort her body to insert the device, trying not to notice how his eyes dilated as he watched her fingers disappear into her body.

“God, that’s beautiful,” he said softly. “Next time, may I insert it for you?”

Phryne huffed out a laugh and kissed him. “Absolutely. But right now, I want you to insert something else, Jack!”

“Your wish is my command, my lady,” he said, smirking as he rolled to position himself between her thighs. He held her eyes as he reached between them to press the head of his aching cock into her warm, wet opening, and he lowered his forehead to hers as he pushed himself slowly inside. When he’d filled her with all of himself, he paused, eyes closing at the sensation of completeness.

“Phryne,” he whispered. “Phryne.” It seemed that the only word he could form was her name, so he said it again, reverently. “Phryne.”

“Yes, Jack,” she whispered in return, her hands cupping the back of his head. “Jack.”

When the urge to move within her became more than Jack could bear, he opened his eyes and locked his gaze with Phryne’s. Then he began to thrust. In and out of her body he moved, starting slowly, then speeding up. She lifted one of her thighs up and over his hip, changing the angle of his thrusts to hit a particular spot within her body that made her keen with pleasure. Their mouths met, tongues mimicking the action of his hips, and their gasps were made up of nothing but the other’s name.

When Jack could feel himself nearing his own orgasm, he slid a hand between them and found Phryne’s clitoris, pressing his thumb against it hard. She shattered, back arching, fingers digging into his back. He felt her fingernails gouge his skin and climaxed with a shout that he tried to muffle against the pillow beside her head.

After Jack could move again, he rolled to his back, pulling Phryne with him to nestle her against his chest.

“Well,” Phryne murmured with a drowsy chuckle as she snuggled close to him. “I suppose that _will_ be a tough act for your bed to follow, Jack.”

And Jack laughed.

 

**************

 

The next night, Jack left the station precisely on time. Collins marveled at the spring in his DI’s step as Jack wished him a good evening and headed out the door. Perhaps the inspector had plans for the evening?

Collins would be right about that. Jack was expecting Miss Fisher to arrive at his flat at 8:00, so he had just enough time to get home, make sure the place was presentable, and change before starting dinner. He’d planned a simple feast of chicken and vegetables, though he wished he was a more accomplished cook, to make her something as unique as she herself was. Ah well, he’d have to show his appreciation of her some other way, he thought, smiling to himself.

When the knock on his door sounded at 7:30, then, he was a little flustered. He had only just begun to cook, with an apron thrown over his shirt and his sleeves rolled up. He grabbed a towel and wiped his hands on the way to the door. Opening it, he found Phryne, radiant in a blue velvet coat and feathered hat, bouncing slightly as she waited.

“Hello, Jack!” she said, smiling as she swept into his flat. “I’m sorry to be so early—terribly rude, I know—but I just couldn’t wait a moment longer. Do you mind?” She looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Never,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her soundly. He tried not to pull her too close, as he was still wearing his kitchen apron and he didn’t want to dirty her, but Phryne pressed herself against him, making a small, appreciative humming noise in her throat. Jack pulled his waist back, only breaking the kiss at the last possible instant. “I’m a mess, Phryne! Let me take this apron off.”

“You are a bit of a mess, Jack,” Phryne purred, “but I definitely like it.” She helped him pull the apron top from around his shirt button as he untied the back. He chucked the apron toward the kitchen and gathered her close.

“Is this what you had in mind when you said you’d muss me?” Jack said, his voice muffled by the skin of her throat as he pressed his mouth to her pulse.

“Oh yes,” Phryne replied throatily. “This is just what I wanted to see. And it’s mine, all mine.” She ran her fingers into his hair to keep his mouth at her throat, but was surprised when he lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“I am, you know,” he said seriously, searching her gaze. “Yours, that is. For as long as you want me.”

Phryne smiled. “I hope you’re ready for a long haul then, Jack. I’m going to want you for a very—” she kissed him, “—very—” she kissed him again, “—long time.” Her mouth caught his, drawing him into a passionate tangle of tongues, lips, and teeth that tasted a bit of joy and a bit of hope and a bit of relief. She smiled against his mouth when Jack slid his hands down to grasp her thighs and pull them up and around his waist as he walked with her to his bedroom and shut the door. Dinner would wait.

 

**************

 

Later, they lay in Jack’s bed, having feasted on sausage, cheese, and crackers (the chicken was quite overdone by the time they’d got back to it), and agreed that they definitely needed to experiment some more to see whose bed was the more comfortable.

“Oh! I have something for you, Jack,” Phryne she said with a smile. Rising from the bed, she made her way, quite nude, back out the bedroom door. When she returned, she was carrying a small satchel. “Change of clothes for tomorrow,” she said. “I assume it’s all right if I stay?”

Jack almost couldn’t speak, and when he did, his voice was rough. “Absolutely, Miss Fisher. Stay as long as you like.” He smiled up into her eyes.

She smiled, radiant. “Well good, then,” she said, bending her head to rummage in her bag, which she’d set on the end of the bed. After a moment, she said “Aha!” and straightened, brandishing an inlaid wooden box. Moving the satchel to the floor, Phryne climbed back into bed, still clutching the box.

Jack tilted his head, puzzled. “What is it?” he asked. She hadn’t handed it to him; she was, in fact, holding it rather tightly.

“Well,” she said slowly, “remember how you told me in your letters that you were sending some of what you wrote, but holding others back?” Her eyes searched his.

“Yes,” Jack said, thinking of the letter box tucked into the drawer at his bedside. He’d reread those letters multiple times, and though there were many of them that he was afraid he’d never have the courage to give her, it still thrilled him to have written them.

“Well,” Phryne said again—she sounded almost nervous, he thought. How very un-Phryne-ish! “When I realized that I wouldn’t be able to post any more letters and have any hope of them reaching you before I did, I— well, I decided to write them anyway, and save them for you.” She waved the little box in one hand, rather vaguely, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“You did?” Jack’s smile was involuntary, an expression of delight that he couldn’t seem to hide. “Is that them?” He gestured to the box.

“Er, yes, it is,” Phryne said, though she still gripped the box securely. “I’m not sure that I can actually give them to you to read, though, Jack.” Her delightful mouth twitched from side to side.

“Would you read one to me?” Jack said, his voice a low rumble. When she didn’t respond right away, he said, “or I could read one of mine to you, if you prefer?”

Phryne’s eyes flew up to his. “You really did write them?”

“I did,” he confirmed; pushing himself up to a sitting position, he reached into the drawer and pulled out his own box. He brandished it, suddenly siezed with the same shyness that seemed to be afflicting Phryne. These letters were intensely personal to him. He’d written them thinking that there was a possibility that she would never see them, and in them, he had laid himself bare. He set the box in his lap and smoothed his hand over its top.

“Would you read one to me, Jack?” Phryne said, her voice strained.

“I will, though I hope you won’t find them offensive,” Jack said. “I’ll admit, I used them as a way to contain the thoughts of you that I was unable to banish. Some of them are rather… explicit, I’m afraid.” Now it was he who couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Oh Jack, that’s exactly what I was hoping for,” Phryne admitted, raising her hand to stroke his cheek. Jack raised his eyes to meet hers and, seeing nothing but sweetness and desire there, decided that he could do this. He nodded slightly and, rolling his lips together, he swallowed hard. His fingers trembled a little as he opened the box; inside was a packet of well-read letters bound in a red ribbon that had reminded him of her favorite lip color, and, standing on their sides and packed tightly in, an accordion of folded but unbound papers.

Phryne gasped. “Jack! So many!” Her eyes were wide as she took them in.

“I did write every day, Phryne,” Jack admitted quietly, skimming his fingers over the tops of the letters. “And it felt as if you were gone a very long time.” He breathed carefully as he selected the letter stacked at the front of the unbound section. He pulled it out, then, before he could second-guess himself, he set the rest of the box back on the table beside him, leaned back against the headboard, and began to read.

> 5 September 1929

> Darling,

> I cannot breathe, at times, for wanting you. Whether it is only the platonic pleasure of your company that I miss or the fire of my imaginings, I find myself undone by you over and over again.

Jack glanced at Phryne. She had caught her lower lip between her teeth, and was watching him with wondering eyes. He took a deep breath.

> Perhaps you do not even realize how often I have had to hold myself back when I am in your presence. I meet your eyes and my breath shortens. I see your lips and my own lips tingle with wanting to kiss you. I see the nape of your neck and I have to stop myself from pressing my mouth against it. Every time you are near me, I want to touch you. 

 

As he read, Phryne laid down beside him on the bed, her head resting on his chest. She closed her eyes and clutched her box of letters to her breasts. “Don’t stop, Jack,” she murmured, her breath uneven. He continued.

> If (when?) I am ever invited to your bed, I will begin by kissing you. First your mouth—I could feast for hours on your mouth, my tongue duelling with yours, licking and biting at your lips. Even if we do nothing else, I will consider myself lucky to spend time chest to chest with you, learning your mouth and feeling your breath mingle with mine.

 

Phryne shuddered slightly. God, his voice! It felt to her like he was touching her all over with that voice, stroking her skin with its velvety tone. She fumbled to lay her box aside without opening her eyes or moving away from him, then returned her hand to his belly, fingers stroking lightly as he continued to read.

> If, then, we continue, I will undress you, button by button, tie by tie. I will kiss every inch of your skin as it is revealed to me, from the curve of your neck, over the rise of your shoulder, down the long line of your arm, and along the slope of your breasts. 

Phryne hummed her pleasure at this image, her hand lightly rubbing his skin as she nestled closer at his side.

> When I turn my attention to your nipples, I will press one with my tongue and teeth while I play the other with my fingers. God, Phryne, even in my imagination, the image of my hand on your breast shortens my breath. I might get sidetracked from my journey down your body by just that sight alone. I am told that it is possible to bring a woman to her peak with only the fondling of her breasts. I would like to attempt that with you. I imagine that your skin will taste like cream and feel like velvet, except for your nipples, which will be hard as diamonds when I have properly attended to them.

 

Phryne’s gasp was loud, and she sat up, hand stilling on his chest, where her fingers had wandered to play with his nipple as he spoke of hers. “You did that! Last night! You made me climax just by playing with my breasts! Were you thinking of this letter then, Jack?” Her mouth was slightly open in her astonishment, and Jack found himself smiling.

“I was, yes,” he admitted. “I’ve read this letter over a few times since I wrote it, and I couldn’t miss the chance to bring it to life. I’ve been thinking of you and your kisses for a very long time.”

“I definitely spent a lot of time thinking of your kisses, darling Jack,” Phryne said in a throaty whisper. She leaned up to him, bringing her lips to his. He slid down to meet her halfway, hungrily. The words in this letter always aroused him, and to have her here while he read them seemed almost unreal. He had been holding the letter in his left hand and holding Phryne with his right, but now he moved to catch the letter in his right hand while he slid down to meet Phryne where she was reclining on the pillows. Lips still joined to hers, Jack brought his hand to her breast. Breathing hard, he tore his mouth away from hers to look at the sight of his tanned skin against the ivory of hers, her nipple caught in the web between his thumb and forefinger.

“This, Phryne,” he said, his voice feeling ripped from his chest. “This is the image that I could not get out of my head.” In awe, he watched his hand as he rolled her nipple between his fingertips. After a moment, he couldn’t help himself—he dipped his head and took that impudent nipple into his mouth. Phryne threaded her hands into his hair and held his head to hers for a moment, enjoying the bliss of his mouth on her breast. But after a moment, she tugged lightly to pull him away.

“You’re not getting off that easily,” she chided. “There’s more to that letter, isn’t there?”

Jack looked up, his eyes unfocused with pleasure. Her words seemed to surprise him. He blinked, thinking. “Oh. Erm, yes.” He shook his head a little, trying to snap himself into awareness. He passed the letter, now a bit crumpled (not for the first time) back into his left hand. He stayed low on the bed, however, right arm wrapped around Phryne, his head resting on her sternum. He cleared his throat. “Right. Where was I?” He swallowed, and began again, reveling in the scent of her and the feeling of her fingers, now combing through his hair.

> Once you have reached your first peak (you see, I am determined), I plan to continue my mouth’s trek down your body, mapping the shape of your belly (I think that my tongue would slip nicely into your navel) and the lines of your thighs. I will trace the swells of your calves with my mouth and press my lips to the arches of your feet. Then I will turn my attention to that most womanly part of you. Are you appalled by my desire to taste your feminine core? I have imagined the flavor of your juices; you will be sweet and salty, with an overlay of the musk that is unique to you. I will use my tongue and fingers to bring you to another orgasm; I will suck on your hardened peak and press into you with my tongue, lapping up the fluids your body produces in your excitement. You will arch and moan, catch your breath and possibly even cry out as you reach your climactic moment, and I will drink you down with joy.

“You did that too!” Phryne burst out. “Definitely not appalled, Jack.”

Jack smiled a little. “I am glad to hear it, love. Now shush.” He continued.

> Only then will I undress myself, baring my body to you as I have bared my heart. I hope that you will find me even a fraction as comely as I find you. I will assist you in inserting your internal device (I will always protect you in all ways) before I press myself into you. Will you hold my gaze as I push into your body? Holding your eyes is one of my favorite things to do with you, Phryne—I imagine that I can see so many messages in them that are only for me. 

“Oh Jack,” Phryne breathed, her hands sliding down his shoulder to rest on his bicep. Jack didn’t stop reading.

> I will slide my hands up to meet yours, linking us together as I begin to move. You will raise your knees to my sides, and perhaps even lift one around my waist. I will kiss you again and again, on your mouth, your throat, whatever my mouth can reach as I continue to thrust into and out of your body, for I would not disengage from you for the world, my Phryne. When I can bear the pleasure no longer, I will slide one of my hands down between us to touch your pleasure button and push you into yet another climax before I allow myself to spend inside you.

> When we are replete, I will gather you close in my arms and stroke you until we both calm (for I am certain that I will be overcome in that moment). We might then sleep until we wake to start again—this is a chorus that I will happily sing over and over and never tire of it.

> I will leave off there for now, my darling. It grows late, and I have made myself unable to sleep without some way of calming down. Perhaps that will be tomorrow’s letter.

As he read, Jack heard Phryne’s breathing begin to quicken, and from where he lay, he could see her hips begin to move on the bedclothes. When he reached the closing of the letter, he lifted himself up, shifting his body so that he lay over her, his eyes meeting hers.

“Yours, Jack,” he said softly, his hand reaching down to lift her thigh so that he could slide into her as his mouth met hers.

“Oh, Jack!” Phryne moaned, her hands grasping for his back as he thrust into her. Her mouth frantic against his, Phryne pushed at his shoulder, rolling him onto his back so that she could rise above him, never letting him slip from her body. She kissed him as she undulated her hips to continue the rhythm he had started, her breasts rubbing against his chest. When the desire to move became too strong, Phryne pushed up against his chest, letting her knees fall to either side of his waist, and she rode him. Jack grasped her hips and watched as her breasts rose and fell with the motion of her body, her eyes slitted and glittering with passion. He pushed himself up on one arm, his large hand splaying on her hip, his thumb pressing at the top of her cleft as he took her breast into his mouth. Phryne broke apart, a scream of passion wrung from her chest, and Jack followed her into climax, groaning.

They collapsed, panting, sweat drying on their bodies. Phryne lay draped on top of Jack. He brought his hand up to brush her hair from her face and laughed to find the letter still clutched in it. He reached out and slapped the paper on top of his letter box, then brought both of his arms around Phryne. He kissed the top of her head where it rested on his chest, stroking her neck and down her back.

“Is it my turn to read one now, Jack?” Phryne said, and he could her the smile in her voice, despite the post-climactic laxness of her muscles.

“Perhaps we should give ourselves a rest first,” Jack said, grinning. “If your letters are anything like mine, I think we’ll need our stamina.”

Phryne looked up at him, and they both burst into laughter.

 

**************

 

Over the next weeks, they were rarely separated. Even when their daily responsibilities required them to be apart, they met almost every night at his house or hers. Mr Butler became used to seeing Jack at the breakfast table at the Wardlow, and Dot was no longer surprised to see him at the door at the end of his workday.

Jack took to carrying his box of letters with him, along with a change of linens, knowing that he’d often be heading to the station directly from Phryne’s house. They had managed to read through quite a few of his letters and hers—she had written every night aboard the ship, and sometimes more than once, it turned out—but they still had more to go. Most of the letters Jack had chosen from his pile, however, had been those that described his fantasies. He hadn’t yet read her one that truly exposed his heart, though he was certain that she understood his feelings at this point.

Phryne, too, had kept the letters she read Jack to the erotic thoughts she’d put to paper. She’d nearly pulled out that first letter, in which she overtly stated her feelings, many times, but hadn’t yet had the nerve. It was starting to irritate her, given that she considered herself quite courageous. This time, tonight, she planned to read him that letter.

She answered the door to Jack’s knock; he smiled at her with both eyes and mouth, leaning in to give her a kiss along with his murmured “Hello.”

“Mmm, hello, Jack,” Phryne said, leaning into him, her mouth kicking up sideways at how lovely it was to welcome him in such a way.

Jack stepped inside, his hand on her waist turning her as he closed the door behind them. Without breaking contact with her, he leaned over to set his briefcase down under the hall coat tree, then stood again. Glancing over his shoulder at the dining room and seeing that they were unobserved, he leaned down to kiss her again, more thoroughly. After a moment, they broke apart, Phryne taking off his hat as Jack removed and hung up his overcoat. They linked hands and strolled into the parlour, where Mr Butler was waiting with cocktails, having kept himself out of sight.

 

**************

 

After a delicious supper of roast beef and mashed potatoes, a sated Jack reclined on the chaise in the parlour. He’d made himself comfortable, taking off his jacket, waistcoat, and tie, and he’d pushed off his shoes. He and Phryne had gotten in the habit of locking the parlour doors after dinner, since they very often got into some rather compromising positions when left to their own devices.

Phryne came over to sit with him, pulling off her own shoes and tucking herself between his legs. Jack pulled her close, stroking her bare arms lightly and tucking her head to his chest. Phryne relaxed into him, loving that he was so tactile with her. He often held her hand or stroked her arm, shoulder, or back in small movements when they were together during the day. And when they found themselves alone, Jack was positively handsy at times, stroking her waist, or her belly, or even her bottom when he thought no one was looking. She’d never considered that he’d be this way, and she loved how open he was in his enjoyment of her.

Gathering her courage, she said, “I think it’s my turn to read a letter tonight, Jack.”

“All right,” he said, his arms snaking around her. “I just hope you have it close; I’m not ready to let you go yet.” She heard the smile in his voice, and snuggled closer.

“Lucky for you, I’ve come prepared,” she said, smiling herself, though she was certain hers was likely to have a bit of a sickly cast to it. Why was she so nervous, she wondered? She was certain—almost certain—that Jack loved her. Why was it so frightening for her to say the words to him? But it was. She suddenly wished she’d taken a belt of whiskey before sitting down, just to get her courage up.

Phryne reached down and lifted the bottom edge of her skirt up and over her garter, revealing the letter she’d tucked there. Jack’s quiet laugh shook his chest.

“You have the best hiding spots,” he said.

“I like to see your reactions when I take things out of them,” she teased, making herself comfortable against him. She positioned herself so that he wouldn’t be able to see the letter as she read it; they’d made the rules for letter-reading over the past weeks, and she was certain that he wouldn’t try to read ahead, but this time she wanted to be sure of it. She cleared her throat and began.

> 1 October 1929

> Darling Jack, shall I tell you one of my fantasies? Let’s see, which is the most interesting? How about this:

> I will meet you at the door to my parlour, wearing my new dressing gown—it is forest green satin, decorated with embroidered oak trees, and there are lovely small birds hidden within the boughs for you to find. 

“Oh, I like that dressing gown,” Jack murmured in her ear. “Particularly that little goldfinch…” Phryne smiled, remembering the night he’d discovered that little bird, and continued.

> You will hang up your hat and coat and follow me in to stand next to the fire. I will close and lock the doors from the main hall (the back door will already be locked in this scenario) before I pour you a whiskey and come to stand next to you. You will be smiling that lovely sideways smile of yours, as if you see every naughty thought I am having, and when you take the whiskey in one hand, you will slide your other arm around my waist to pull me close. Your eyes will gaze into mine, and you will say something like, “I appear to be overdressed, Miss Fisher. I didn’t realize that tonight called for casual attire.” I will smile up at you, and tell you that you can be as buttoned up as you like—for now.

> You will then take a sip of your whiskey and set the glass aside before you lower your mouth to mine; the flavour of the liquor will flood my mouth along with the flavour of you as you rub your tongue along mine. You are a delightful kisser, Jack, and I find myself thinking of your mouth far more often that I might have believed.

Phryne looked up at Jack, hearing his soft breathing, and he took the opportunity to kiss her, long and deep.

“Mmmm,” she said, “red wine and Jack.”

“I’ll bet that you didn’t think of my kisses half so often as I thought of yours,” Jack murmured. He knew that in one of his letters, he’d claimed to think of her every hour upon the hour and every minute in between. He didn’t consider that to be an exaggeration. Even now, she was always in his thoughts.

Phryne smiled. “I think you’d be surprised about that,” she said. She brought her eyes back to the letter.

> I will loosen your tie as your big hand runs up my back (you will have detected by now that I am wearing nothing at all underneath my gown), and when your tie is off, I will begin on your buttons…

Phryne’s voice was low and throaty as she read of the way she’d imagined Jack seducing her—or was she seducing him? Either way, they both were seduced. She could hear Jack’s breathing becoming more uneven as the letter described them taking each other on this very chaise. His hands were stroking her arms; his lips were at her nape as he listened. She could feel his arousal growing against her hip and his thighs pressing at intervals against hers.

As she continued to read of their fantasy lovemaking, Jack’s hands wandered over her body, teasing her into arousal as well. Phryne could feel her breath becoming uneven, but she needed to finish, so she didn’t turn to him as she might have, if she didn’t know what was coming in this letter. She licked her lips and began the last few sentences, her voice roughening with want and emotion.

> When we both can breathe again, we’ll find ourselves entwined, my head on your shoulder and your head on mine, our arms wrapped around each other and as close as we can physically be. That is when I will whisper my love for you—when we are sated and calm, so that you will know that I am not speaking in the heat of the moment. 

 

His breath caught, and his hands on her body stilled. “Phryne?” he whispered. She heard the break in her own voice, and marveled at it, but she continued.

> I love you, Jack, and I have not said those words to any man in a very long time. I cannot wait until we are together again. You bring out the the best in me, and I want more of you. I want all of you, my love.

She turned to him at the end, whispering the closing “Yours always, Phryne” as she turned to meet his eyes, wide and glassy, and then his lips.

“I love you, Jack,” she said, nearly inaudibly.

“Phryne,” he whispered in return. “I love you too, more than I ever thought was possible.” His hand moved up to cup the back of her head, and he lowered his lips to hers.

She turned in his arms to fully embrace him. Now that she’d opened the floodgates, it seemed that she couldn’t stop telling him how much she loved him. It whispered from her lips, traced from her fingers, dripped from her kisses.

After a long while, they parted, smiling, and Jack said, “It’s funny—I brought something to read to you tonight as well.” He reached for his jacket, which hung over the back of the chaise, and pulled something from its inside pocket. Laying back down, he pulled Phryne with him to cuddle as he read.

“I’ll skip most of it for now,” he said. “The important bit is at the end.”

> 6 September 1929

> My Phryne,

> May I call you mine? I cannot, of course, own you, though I hope that you might give yourself into my keeping, at least for a little while…

“Oh Jack,” Phryne breathed. She nestled her head more securely against him, her nose in the crook of his neck, breathing his scent; her hand crept to lie flat over the buttons of his shirt, feeling the beating of his wonderful, steadfast heart.

> I wonder, in fact, that there is even a possibility that you care for me. I am a simple man, going about my simple life. You have brought a spark of joy that I never would have imagined, and I cannot fathom that a flame as bright as yours would condescend to warm such a one as me.

> But should you so condescend, Phryne, I would welcome it! I would nurture that spark to the best of my ability; I want it never to go out. I can imagine many things, but I can no longer imagine my life without you in it, even if only as my investigative partner. I might as well admit the truth: I am in love with you. And whether or not you feel the same way, the fact remains that you have my heart. I hope that you will treat it gently.

“Yours always, Jack,” he rumbled, close to her ear. His voice had roughened as he read, showing her how important those final words were to him.

“I will treat your heart as gently as I know how to, Jack,” she said, leaning up to meet his eyes. “And I will trade mine for it.”

“My Phryne,” Jack said, softly, wonderingly. He kissed her again, lingering over her, eyes open and locked with hers.

“Perhaps we should go upstairs,” Phryne whispered against his lips when they came up for air, some time later.

“Yes,” Jack said softly, smiling. “After all, we still need a tiebreaker in the competition for whose bed is more comfortable.”

Phryne smiled, adoring him. “Oh, definitely, Jack,” she said, leading him up the stairs to her room.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you’re wondering, I did some research on that Donne quote. It appears that although John Donne was married and fathered 12 children (!), there is some relatively recent speculation that Donne was not as heterosexual as he’s generally been perceived. Letters to his male friends with lines like this one are part of what’s cited as proof. Literary historians also point to the fact that many of his love poems are genderless, which leads them to consider that the poems were intended to imply same-sex love. 
> 
> I found a fascinating review of a book by George Klawitter, “The Enigmatic Narrator: The Voicing of Same-Sex Love in the Poetry of John Donne,” on http://paganpressbooks.com/jpl/DONNE.HTM if you’d like to learn more.


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